Hope
by Dark-flames
Summary: Basically it wasn't meant as a 90210 fic but when I came to a point in the story I realzied it was perfect! Sometimes hope is the only thing that makes you keep breathing, and Brenda finds out the hardest way possible.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own it, don't profit from it, but plot is ALL MINE! So don't try to copy it, please.

**A/N: **Please note this has nothing to do with faith in the sense of a certain religion, the way I use the chapel is basically a metaphor.

**Hell found me**

Hell found me. Like an ancient spell from one of those books I used to flutter through in the antique book stores by the corner besides Starbucks.

I suppose it might sound strange, but I suppose being in denial too long makes reality much harder to face. Is it really fair that we should have to give up our fairytales and dreams in order to stay in the 'real world'? Is it fair denial can be snatched away?

The mornings were the hardest, the waking up and the dawning realization that things were not what they used to be. Then there were the evenings when the memories came in floods oh so much harsher and more rapidly than in the days.

The nights… Don't get me started on the nights, the dreams the horrors of trying to wake up and realizing you're drenched in your own sweat and crying hysterically.

_Don't tell me case it hurts_

I remember the day it happened. The police officer by the door, the conversation and the long silence following. Nothing quite compared, nothing quite prepared for it.

The suddenness and the flashes of secrecy that erupted when they tried to hide it, when they told me to pray but not to ask questions…

I spent much time in the hospital chapel at the time, by the front row watching the many candles. Some were burning some were not. I had always wondered why people came up to light those candles, was it for a prier or perhaps for someone special that rested within their minds?

I simply sat there and watched as people came and went. It was mostly empty, but towards the evenings they would start streaming in, mostly one by one. They would take no notice whatsoever of me as I sat there alone, quiet as a mouse. It was almost as if I ceased to exist, as if I became part of the decoration within the small dim room.

It was beautiful. In the very front a painting had been hung and above it rested the cross with Jesus being tormented during his last few hours of precious life.

I would watch his face. The pain and frustration mingled with an eerie calmness, a peace that meant he knew, he realized the end was near and embraced it. I personally do not even recall the full story of his crucifixion, only a few fragments of what they told us at school.

I do now however remember every inch of the face carved into the wood above the front of the chapel. I remember everything about his expression and about the grief and soothing I saw there.

Strange really that they would put something like that up in a hospital, where people lived and died at times much dependent on circumstances. It seemed to harsh, to cruel a dose of reality to keep there.

So I sat there staring it down in an effort to force its message back into the wood. My frail childish hopes were that if I stared long enough it would surrender and somehow slump down and admit its wrongfulness regarding that people sometimes did die young and unfairly trialed.

It was nothing more than faith, but it kept me alive when others died outside the walls of that room. It kept me upright, sitting there in my little sanctuary, when other things did not. It brought with the silly staring competition a belief, a hope that everything was going to be just fine. That everything was going to be like it always had.

It kept my mind occupied, and I suppose in some way my parents knew that when they directed me there. Or at least they thought it might help keep me out of the way of bad news for the most part. I don't know what it was, maybe parental intuition?

I shunned from my friends too. I remember someone coming to talk to me the first few days. It was a couple of different people actually, but I hardly remember what they said at this point. It seems so far away, like hazy memories of a different person.

I know I didn't respond to their attempts at comfort or discussion, and soon enough I can only imagine that they gave up and spent their time and efforts on surviving the ordeal themselves instead.

I'm sorry, whoever was watching over me at that time, for all the harsh words that went through my mind and for all the things I chose to ignore.

The lies and the truth, all forgotten and denied. It made the time whilst I would have been falling so much easier, but it made the final stretch, the part where I landed, so much heavier to bare.

No tears ever escaped me, not one sob and possibly not even many sounds, during this time.

Pain consumes me now, but this time I know that no matter how much I star it won't help take away the feelings that curse my body today.

A little hope remains in this room however, and I feel sheltered. I feel close to him, like I can just reach out and feel his touch. I guess that's because I've got my eyes closed.

Someone's watching me, someone's resting a hand on my shoulder and I find the first sounds escaping my now dry lips. Tears are falling like rain drops on a lat fall evening and creating streaks of dark sorrow down my cheeks. I gasp, attempting to breath, and the hand tightens its grip and begins softly massaging my skin in a rhythmic soothing motion as if trying to protect me.

My eyes fly open, like a bolt of electricity having just gone through my spine. I remember that motion. When I was five he did it for the first time. I fell off my bike and scraped up my knees but our mother was inside in the kitchen, preparing our lunch. He helped me sit up properly and stood behind me, moving his hand in that very same way. A strange motion for a five year old, yet something almost painfully natural for my brother...

I keep my eyes open, and they somehow find their way to that same position. The carved figure on the cross, that same un yielding face. I choose to focus all of my attention to it, willing the hand to stay there. It does, peacefully and rhythmically continuing the motion.

I shudder, unintentionally, and succumb to the crumbling walls of denial that are falling and giving place for reality to make me come un-done right then and there.

Then with one last effort I call his name, desperation to say all the things that I never had time to tell him before, all the things I was so determined to make sure he knew and heard in time! The hand pauses, but after a mere moment I feel it squeeze my skin.

'Love you too sis.' The voice whispers from behind me. 'Don't worry, I know.'

I nod but the only sound escaping me is the shudder as my body is wrecked by another sob. Then again I open my eyes, still feeling the pressure of the hand, and turn around swiftly. It's all gone, the echoes of his words fading and the only sounds now heard are the rapid beats of my heart and the shuddering breaths erupting from a broken girl, from a lost creature that just received the gift of life and death at the very same time. The gift of true love!

Tears are still falling, still causing lines in my face.

I turn back to the figure on the wall, to the man on the cross.

'Why?' I scream standing up.

My intentions, my very deepest thoughts seem mirrored there in that ever peaceful and silent face.

I nod, I agree… I am selfish, I am wrong, I am shattered, but I am ready to start breathing again, ready to face reality.

The walls crumble, hell succumbs to my tears.

'Thank you.' I whisper. To who, I do not know, but I do see a future. I do see hope. That which has been dangling on a frail string all week long now watches me with a smile creeping on its features and I find myself, through tears and shaky breaths, smiling back.

I fought hell, I fought something bigger than anything I could have imagined… I fought myself, and now as I step out of the dust that has fallen over the battle field I see the sun sparkle and realize I won the hardest duel of my life thus far.

'Thank you.' I repeat, and move forward. One more thing left to do before I'm ready. One more thing before I can grow up.

I grasp the stick with my pale fingers and bring it to one of the already lit candles. The flame dances but soon catches on and I bring it over to my very own candle. It's a white one, inside a beautiful red glass holder. The fire beings slow and soon a soft light streaks towards the roof, small but determined and fighting.

My very own light, just for you dear brother. Just for you my dear twin…

I walk away, my footsteps mingling with the echoes of the burning flames and I can almost swear I see, out of the corners of my eyes, a small smile flicker across that figure, that carved wooden face, and I smile back.

Love still hurts, the world still burns, but as life rolls on hope remains like it did in the very bottom of Pandora's box… And I know that even if it is the very last thing that ever will linger on this earth it can still carry the power to safe a world, to make a difference so big we do not begin to comprehend the effects.

So the world's burning, but so am I.

So hell found me. I fought it. Tables are turned…

I heard someone saying it was for closure, to keep the ghosts away.


End file.
